<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>The Phantom of the Great Temple by Vicomtesse</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495926">The Phantom of the Great Temple</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicomtesse/pseuds/Vicomtesse'>Vicomtesse</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bharatanatyam - Fandom, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera &amp; Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, India, Temple, dance, finally publishing, my two favorite things together, writing this since three years</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26495926</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vicomtesse/pseuds/Vicomtesse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I never knew you could dance like that! What a triumph last night was!” Megham sighed dreamy, combing her friend’s hair. “Who taught you to dance like that? Was it our dance master Velmurugan?”<br/>“Oh, Megham,” Chandrika replied. “If I tell you, you will not believe me.”<br/>________________________________________________________________________________<br/>That's right - it's the Phantom of the Opera set in early 19th century South India!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Introduction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a work of fiction written for pleasure and does not attempt to educate. I have, however, tried to remain respectful towards whatever little we know about South India's temple dancers, who lived less than a hundred years ago and whose grandchildren walk this earth, but whose history has been distorted or wiped out almost completely. If you are interested in the topic, may I suggest Kersenboom (1987) and Soneji (2011).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One scorching hot afternoon in May two priests of the Great Temple came to Govinda Das' modest home at the edge of the city to inspect the girl, as was the custom. They sat down on one of the two cots placed in the house's central yard, fanning themselves in the heat and smiling politely to their host. The girl brought them cool water in two big steel glasses. She waited patiently for the priests to finish their drinks and place their glasses back on the plate she was holding. Her father sat down on his own cot, opposite to the priests, and got straight to business. </p><p>"Her mother passed away when she was just an infant," Govinda Das started, motioning towards his young daughter who had gone inside the house to take the glasses back to the kitchen. He wiped his forehead with his palm and then continued: "My family isn't from around here, as you know, I moved to this city several years ago just to be able to work for the Great Temple. I've been Chandrika's sole caretaker since. Now I see my own health decline and I worry about her future, her fate. That is why I want her to be attached to the Great Temple, earn a living, and continue my family's profession as an artist," Govinda explained to the priests, joining his hands in respect. </p><p>"We know, Govinda Das," the elder one of the priests stated, getting up from the cot. He flashed Govinda Das a comforting smile. "The Great Temple is grateful to you for your work as a musician and we understand the concern for your daughter. Call her back here, so we may take a better look at her." </p><p>"Chandrika, come here," Govinda called out for his daughter. She appeared again at the door and peeped out. “Come on out, child,” Govinda asked, smiling to her lovingly. The young girl stepped down and stood in the yard. She was dressed in a simple cotton dress. Her braided hair fell on the level of her hips. Her big eyes sparkled with excitement. </p><p>"Your daughter is pretty. How old is she?" the elder priest asked, walking up to the girl.<br/>
"She's twelve."<br/>
"In the right age."<br/>
"She doesn't carry your disease?" the other priest asked Govinda as the first one requested Chandrika to open her mouth to examine her teeth.<br/>
"You know my disease isn't contagious," replied Govinda. "It will take me, but it won't touch her. She is in perfectly good health."<br/>
The girl closed her mouth, eyeing the priest, waiting for more instructions. "Turn around slowly. Very good. Walk to the tree and back. Keep your chin up, dear! You see? Her limbs are long and her gait graceful," the priest clapped his hands and smiled approvingly. The younger one got up now too and walked to where Chandrika was standing. "Yes, yes, I do see. What have you learned so far from your father, my child?" he asked Chandrika directly. The girl paused her walk, joined her hands in respect, and spoke.<br/>
"My father has taught me the systems of rhythms and melodies. I know the mythological stories of the puranas. I can sing praises of Lord Shiva."<br/>
"She's been observing the musicians and the dancers of the temple since we moved here. She knows more than she herself realizes and she's quick to learn," Govinda added. His words were followed by a sudden fit of coughing that was ignored by the priests who were concentrated in examining Chandrika from each angle. The girl stood still, patiently. </p><p>"Do you want to be wedded to the Lord and become a handmaiden at the Great temple?" the elder priest asked finally, observing Chandrika's face carefully. Her eyes widened.<br/>
"Yes," she replied breathlessly. "I want to!" </p><p>It was true that she wanted. She had seen the handmaidens of the Great Temple many times, dressed in fine silk, their heavy necklaces and earrings glimmering in the radiant sun, cross the temple yard proudly as if it belonged to them alone. She had seen the eager crowd calm down suddenly in front of them and make way for them, whispering to each other: "There go the eternally auspicious ones!" She had seen them burst into songs and dance, joyful tillana-dances in the mornings and padam-dances dripping with longing and love in the evenings. They performed their art in front of a cheering crowd, they had countless admirers and well-wishers ready to do any service for them. Chandrika’s father had played the violin for those wonderous performances before falling ill. The days of the handmaidens were spent in creating and propagating music and art. They seemed happy. Chandrika had always considered them lucky. Not only that – as living brides ritually wedded to the immortal god who resided inside the temple, they would never enter widowhood and could never lose the auspiciousness granted to a Hindu bride by the society. They were considered so important that no ritual took place without their presence. They always had a home and a caretaker in the temple and didn't have to worry about worldly matters. And they were the first ones and last ones allowed inside the temples, they were the ones who put the god to sleep at night and woke him up again in the morning. Who would not want to be one of them? </p><p>"We'll take her," the elder priest nodded. "She'll start with simple tasks, like making flower garlands and watching over the temple's candles and lamps. We'll provide her education in music and dance too, and if she shows promise in that, she'll get a lot of opportunities to explore her talents." </p><p>Hearing his words, Chandrika gasped, turned, ran up to her father and flung herself to his neck. Both burst into tears. The priests smiled to one another. This was an auspicious day. They had found a new handmaiden who hailed from a family of artists. And she was herself willing to join the Temple. "We’ll agree on a date to come conduct the ritual to dedicate her," the elder one told the father and the daughter. “As you know, it’s a marriage ritual between the girl and the Lord that will take place in your home and the very next day, she will be able to move onto the Temple grounds.” Chandrika let go of her father and hurried to touch the priests' feet with her hands as a sign of respect.<br/>
“What preparations must we make?” Govinda Das asked, wiping the corner of his eye. “Do we finance the ritual?”<br/>
"Oh, no. The temple will bring whatever we need to conduct the dedication ceremony. Some fruits, some rice, wood, a saree for her and a marital necklace…” the younger priest counted with his fingers. “And when she moves in, then too, she doesn't need to bring anything. After all, she's coming to her husband's house, her new home."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The New Dancer</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>- Six years later - </p><p>On the first day of Margali, the first month of the winter season, something unexpected happened at the Great Temple. The best dancer of the temple, the crowd's favorite since five successive winters, Srimati Chakranemi, fell down on the hard, stone floor of the dance hall while practicing and hurt her right ankle. After that she couldn't stand on that foot anymore. She tried and tried, but the foot could not take her weight. The priests had to carry her away to her quarters as she cried bitterly.</p><p>"It's the bad eye," Megham, a young handmaiden, who happened to be present at the practices when it happened, whispered to a group of friends. "She got too proud of herself."<br/>"But how did she fall? There's nothing here to trip over or hurt yourself with!" her friend Jayashree retorted patting the smooth, painted stone floor around the spot where the great dancer had fallen over. The young handmaidens all examined the floor, puzzled. There was nothing there. They glanced at each other with worried eyes and shook their pretty heads. It was the bad eye! </p><p>"Who will dance on her behalf now, master? Some of our temple’s grandest festivals take place during Margali. The first procession will start in just a few hours!" a priest asked the dance-master Velmurugan, who was sitting on his cot in the corner of the room. Without the auspicious music and dance presentation, the procession as well as the whole festival day would be ruined. Not only the disappointment of the audience but the very wrath of gods could damage the reputation of the Great Temple.<br/>"Chandrika will dance," the dance-master announced calmly. "It is the will of god!"<br/>"Chandrika? As far as I know, she hasn't performed at any festival this big," the priest worried shaking his head. <br/>"She has been well taught. She has had practice, too: since some months now she's performing inside the minor shrines. Don't worry. She's already gone to change her dress," Velmurugan explained, remaining calm.<br/>"Well, it seems to be the only choice", the priest sighed.</p><p>In her quarters, located just outside the temple complex, Chandrika was sitting down as another handmaiden was decorating her hair with fresh jasmine flowers and jewelry made of precious stones. She was dressed in fine a maroon silk saree which had a rich gold colored border. Her neck was decorated by multiple necklaces beads and gold. Her wrists were adorned with three heavy bangles each. On her feet, the customary brass bells chimed at her every movement, attached in three rows to two leather belts that were wrapped around her ankles.</p><p>"You're looking perfect! The gods will be pleased!" the other handmaidens present giggled in excitement as they fluttered around Chandrika.<br/>"I truly hope so," Chandrika sighed prying at her own reflection in the mirror placed in front of her on a table. <br/>"Not only the gods, even our patrons the maharaja and his brother the prince will be there today!" Megham, the young handmaiden, announced as she entered the room.<br/>"Oh," the girls sighed and Chandrika lowered her eyes to hide her expression.</p><p>Although the handmaidens were dedicated to temples, it was a well-known truth that if a king liked one of them enough, it was his right to take the girl with him. She then became the court's favorite dancer, who performed at royal processions and banquets. But together with the duties of dance and music, a court dancer also had to accept other requests coming from the raja or his household. Including requests to spend nights with members of the royal family. The maharaja was known to appreciate the arts as well as female beauty. If he came to see the procession, there was indeed a chance he would choose one of the girls.</p><p>"Are you ready? We will start in just a moment," the dance-master interrupted the girls by walking in without warning. His eyes found Chandrika. "Chandrika, you're looking good. Get on the temple grounds."<br/>"Yes, master," Chandrika leapt to him and reached to touch his bare feet with her hands. "Please bless me, for today a wide audience will see me dance."<br/>"You have nothing to fear, child, the gods have chosen you to perform today," Velmurugan replied placing his hand on her head. He was smiling.</p><p>In the Great Temple’s yard, the audience had gathered to wait for the procession to start. The maharaja was seated under a canopy of silk and flowers, located at the bottom of the staircase of the main temple building, surrounded by a handful of guards. His younger brother sat on his right side, chatting happily with him. The rest of the crowd was standing on both sides in the temple ground, leaving the wooden stage in the middle of the yard empty. Canopies of bright cloth were erected to shield the audience from the hot sun rays. Poles and pillars were decorated with fragrant flower garlands. Handmaidens had drawn auspicious images with colored powder at every doorstep. The temple received worshippers daily, but people came in such big numbers only during festivals. </p><p>The audience fell silent when a group of priests appeared on the stage. They greeted the maharaja respectfully and then climbed up the stairs to the Great Temple to get the idol of the Lord ready for the procession. Then, the musicians came on the stage. Dance orchestras were usually composed of four or five men, who were to keep standing up while playing their instruments, and one or two singers. With them stood the dance master with his cymbals. He led the whole concert by marking the tempo with his cymbals. Dance masters also composed pieces, taught them to dancers and musicians, and took care of training new dancers. Today, in the first Margali procession, the number of musicians was tripled to mark the grand occasion. Two dance masters stood in between the musicians. They nodded to one another before they gave the horns a sign to let them know they could start. </p><p>The temple yard was filled with the piercing voices of the nageswaram horns. Musicians blew them as loudly as possible. Today there was nothing to hold them back. The sound of the horns was considered holy, it was played during high prayers and weddings. The audience was transfixed. Next, it was the drums that joined in. If the crowd had sighed at the majestic music of the horns, they now clapped in awe at the powerful beating of the drums. Drummers took a step forward, towards the audience, and paraded right and left, as if to let the crowd admire them from closer. The beats landed in an ever-increasing rhythm and the public's hearts raced together with them. Drummers beat louder and louder, in unison, rising their hands high in the air before slamming them back on the leather surface. They seemed to enter a trance, their hair a mess, their knees bent, their backs curbed. The first row of the audience had to cover their ears. Some cried out with pleasure as the drums reached their high point before cutting off. Drummers retreated, panting, wiping their sweaty faces, the crowd still cheering, while the flutists started playing a sweet melody. It rose like the wail of a lover who had been deceived. The audience yelled "yes, yes!", encouraging the musicians. </p><p>The priests appeared again at the door of the Great Temple. They had mounted the Lord in a palanquin that they carried on their shoulders. Later, the Lord would be seated on a horse and paraded around the city. But right now, he would watch the dance of the handmaidens. </p><p>That is when the dance masters chimed their cymbals in unison. The sound of the brass rang loud all around the temple. The dance masters' cymbals were small but packed with power. They were the only instruments that could be heard loud and clear even when there was only one of them in the whole orchestra, in the whole temple complex. This time, their sound was to signal the handmaidens to come forward as it was time for their dance. Thirty-five young women, all dressed in their best, walked in on the grounds. The audience sighed and gawked. These dancers were all glimmering in the sun light of the afternoon, covered head to toe in jewels. Each more beautiful than the other, with their eyes lined with black kohl, their silky hair braided with jasmine flowers, they resembled goddesses themselves. And goddesses they were, living brides of the deity of the Great Temple. They stepped lightly, on the heels of their feet, their ankle bells ringing in a steady rhythm as they went, until they all were standing still in rows facing their bewildered audience. The public went silent, held their breaths. Under his private canopy, the maharaja smiled. The dance masters chimed again to call the handmaidens to start. All thirty-six dancers sprung to life, spreading their arms on each side and gracing the audience with slight movements of their beautiful eyes first. They then proceeded to move their shoulders and hands and arms, before leaping all the way to their right to start moving their whole body little by little. The dance was known as “Alarippu”, the "Opening Bud", which warmed up the body and readied the soul for more dance. Today, on the day of the first Margali procession, the dance masters had decided to present a whole Margam, a whole concert, as had been prescribed by their wise ancestors. </p><p>After the delighting “Alarippu”, smaller groups of handmaidens presented their own dances. For dances that included storytelling and acting - and many of them did - dance masters preferred to present only a few or even just one handmaiden, as then the audience could concentrate to and appreciate one person's expression at the time. The central piece of the Margam concert - the jewel of the whole dance form - the complex “Varnam” - was a solo piece and young Chandrika had been chosen to present it today. It was a piece that depicted the love of a girl towards her chosen deity, in this case, the god Shiva, who lived inside the Great Temple. It takes a year to learn a “Varnam” piece and many more to truly master it. And it takes around an hour to dance it. Chandrika had warmed up alone, by dancing the “Alarippu” on her own, hidden from the view of the others, behind the walls of the temple complex. Then she had patiently waited for her turn to come. A dance master had asked her if she needed anything. "No," she had replied in a quiet but calm voice. "I just need to concentrate." And she had been left alone behind the walls. </p><p>When her turn came, Chandrika appeared from underneath the curtain shading a side entrance to the temple yard, and the crowd fell silent. They knew the next piece was the “Varnam”, but they did not recognize the dancer who was to present this solo. Confused looks were exchanged. People at the back reached on their toes to catch a glimpse of the young woman. Chandrika caught her left wrist by her right hand and placed it on her waist. She stood in a pose, waiting. The flutes started playing and Chandrika's ankle bells chimed as she walked gracefully to the middle of the stage. She lifted her eyebrows and her mouth stretched in a warm smile as she turned to face the maharaja’s canopy. The “Varnam” piece always starts with a rhythmic cycle repeated in three increasing speeds. If a dancer was able to perform that first part well, she would already make a good first impression on the audience. Chandrika lowered herself in her starting position as the dance masters chimed their cymbals. She stared in front of her and kept smiling. She didn't see the maharaja. She didn’t see the audience. Instead, she imagined she was with her lover, her god, Shiva, and was dancing for only him. When the dance started, her legs were fast as lighting, her hand movements precise, her eyes on point. Her ankle bells chimed in unison with the cymbals. Her slender waist bent from side to side when she leapt across the stage and her head turned fast like that of a little songbird. Her dance position was perfectly practiced - a deep sit, her knees spread wide apart and her large hips kept still. When she had finished her three rhythmic cycles and the singers started the chorus line, the audience burst in vigorous applause and exclaimed aloud: "Yes! Oh, yes! Well done!" </p><p>Chandrika continued with another rhythmic cycle. Her bells chimed as she jumped, turned, twisted, bent, following the dance master’s cymbals. The sounds of the drum, the violin, the flute accompanied her. All throughout, she kept her smiling lips tightly shut; she wasn’t breathless. Droplets of sweat glimmered on her forehead, but she didn’t even notice them. She had practiced… She had been ready for this. </p><p>Then started a new section in the dance, a section where the dancer mimes the story. Singers started singing lyrics, their voices filled with deep longing, asking why the lover was so far away. Chandrika stood still now, a stark contrast to the vivacious dancing, her expression suddenly full of sorrow. She raised her hand and, imaging her lover, looked at him in the eye and asked him why. She stepped front, asking again and again, each time more urgently than the previous one. Using her hands, her face and her body language, she skillfully crafted meaning to every word of the lyrics. The separation from the lover had exhausted her – her bangles fell off from the arms that had gotten leaner; the moon beams, that usually were pleasing, now felt like torture on her skin; she was not able to sleep, to eat, or to breath even. A single tear rolled slowly on her cheek. She closed her eyes and dropped on one knee, bringing a tight fist on her forehead in utter despair. Where was he? Why didn’t he come to her? </p><p>The priests, supporting the decorated palanquin, hadn’t even attempted to descend the staircase. They themselves could not be sure if they stood still so that the god could see the handmaiden dance, or so that they could admire her art. Nevertheless, the priests were surprised seeing the young woman’s offering on the stage. She was even better than Sreemati Chakranemi had been. Where had she been all this time? Who had discovered her talent? Which master had trained her to such a degree of artistry? The rest of the audience was as much in awe as the priests. Later some of the people would notice that they had forgotten to breath, as they concentrated so hard to not to miss even the slightest blink of the eye of this striking dancer that had, until now, been a stranger to them. The performance was only mid-way, but it was already clear that it was a success.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Royal Prince</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you so much everyone who read the two previous chapters, especially those who left kudos! I never expected kudos, I felt that what I was writing was too niche, and it made me so happy to get some. Comments are of course very welcome.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rhythms and the mimes followed one another seamlessly in the “Varnam”. Chandrika proceeded to the next part of the dance, another rhythmic passage, guided by the dance-masters’ cymbals. She executed it as skillfully as she had done earlier, without fault, her poses pleasing to the eyes and her expressions sweet and loving. </p><p>"You look ill, Rajkumar," the maharaja noticed suddenly, reaching to touch the hand of his little brother. "What's wrong?" <br/>The prince closed his mouth that had hung open for a while now, and swallowed painfully, his eyes still following the dancing figure of Chandrika in front of him. His forehead was glistening with sweat and his breathing was labored. <br/>“Brother,” the young prince man, his voice cracking. “I know that girl! I know her!”<br/>“Yes, we might have seen her dance earlier, although I don’t remember… which is strange because her performance is quite impressive!” the older brother chattered away glancing at the handmaiden who continued her mime. She was now asking her friend to help her, to deliver a message to her lover, to tell him about her desperate state and ask him for an answer. The young woman’s fervor caused even the maharaja, who was accustomed to seeing the most beautiful dancers perform privately to him, to feel a little lovesick. <br/>“No, brother, you do not understand!” The rajkumar quickly withdrew his hand from the maharaja’s reach. He placed his fingers on his temples, as if he was having a headache, but kept his eyes wide open. “Be quiet, for heaven’s sake! I must see this performance!” <br/>The maharaja stared at his brother, puzzled, and then returned his gaze to the dancer, who had just finished a portion of dance to a rapid succession of notes in the selected mood sung by the singers. </p><p>The “Varnam” came to an end with one last paragraph of lyrics. The theme of yearning continued, and the dancer seemed to give everything she had in her to portray the emotions churning in the heart of the story’s heroine severed from her heavenly lover. Now tears were flowing freely on Chandrika’s face and mingling with the sweat, fruits of her enormous efforts. Yet she didn’t miss a single beat. Her feet seemed to move on their own, her bells chiming at all the right moments, sweetly stinging at the soul of everyone who heard it. The audience tensed, knowing the end of the dance was approaching. The singers, realizing the dancer’s exertions, closed their eyes and sang in voices that sounded otherworldly. Chandrika fell on her knees, her arms trembling, exhausted, but her face still radiant. She had reached the end of the “Varnam”. It was over. The audience went wild even while the musicians were still playing the last stanzas of the song. People shouted incomprehensible words and lifted their clapping hands high up in the air as if they had gone mad, some wiped tears off their cheeks, some remained silent and transfixed. Chandrika closed her bright eyes abruptly and fell limply on the floor. She had fainted. Some priests hurried to her and clasped her in their arms, calling her name. </p><p>“Chandrika!” the prince shouted, joining in the cries of the bewildered audience. He stood up, holding his face, looking utterly shocked. “Don’t you see, she’s not well!”<br/>“Rajendra,” the maharaja gasped, annoyed. “You’re going a bit too far now. Behave like the royal prince that you are, please!” <br/>“No, brother,” Rajendra answered. “Please – you do not understand. I must go. I must go immediately!”</p><p>While hurrying to the front edge of the canopy, Rajendra lost his balanced and almost tripped over. Clasping the railing, he waved at the guards. “I need to get out of here – now!” he panted. Two guards rushed to his aid and helped him climb over the edge to the shock of his elder brother who didn’t rise from his seat in the shade. Instead, he glanced around and concluded that no one had noticed how foolishly Rajendra behaved, since everyone was still staring at the stage in disbelief over what they had just witnessed. On the stage, two men had lifted Chandrika up and were carrying her hurriedly away. Rajendra’s cries were not loud enough to stop them – everyone in the audience was cheering and the noise was deafening. Chandrika was carried out of the temple grounds. Rajendra followed, running through the mass of people as fast as he could. </p><p>The handmaidens lived in simple but sturdy houses built in rows next to one another, located just next to the Great Temple’s outer wall. Rajendra had to ask a few handmaidens if they knew where Chandrika had been taken. The handmaidens seemed surprised but showed him to way to Chandrika’s humble quarters. The door was closed, and a group of dancers had gathered outside of it. Their chatting stopped when they saw the royal prince walk to them.</p><p>“Sire,” they greeted him with joined hands and exchanged surprised glances. “Are you lost? What brings you here?” Someone giggled at the back. Rajendra cleared his throat before announcing that he wanted to see the dancer Chandrika. His request was met with more giggles. Just then a priest walked out of the door. <br/>“Sire,” he greeted, smiling, composed, bowing his head, “The dancer Chandrika is not feeling well. She’s inside with only a doctor at her side. You may come back later, when she feels better.”<br/>Rajendra folded his arms. “Excuse me. Do you know who I am? I want go inside immediately!”<br/>The priest eyed the prince. Obviously, he knew who this man dressed in silk and jewels was. The temple thrived only thanks to royal patronage. After a small pause, he bowed. “Sire, please. You may go inside, certainly.” Rajendra mumbled as he walked through the group of girls to the door, opened it, and went inside. </p><p>Chandrika was laid down on a small bed. Her head lolled on one side of her pillow. A doctor sat at her bedside. Curtains were closed and the room was lit only with gaslight. Rajendra closed the door behind him. The doctor glanced back, but didn’t say anything, returning his attention back to the young woman. She sighed and her eyes fluttered open. When she noticed the prince, she flinched. Then a happy smile spread across her face. She was about to say something, but, all of a sudden, her expression changed. </p><p>“Sire!” she whispered, letting out a nervous, small laughter. Then she frowned, bit her lip, and spoke hesitantly: “To what do we owe this honor?”<br/>“Chandrika,” Rajendra breathed and kneeled at her bed, taking her hand in his own. He studied her face carefully. “You do remember me, don’t you? We spent the summer together in Madras, on the same beach, as children… I rescued your anklet from the waves!”<br/>Chandrika shot a look at the doctor and quickly returned her gaze to Rajendra, then gave another, nervous laugh: “Sire! I have never been in Madras! You must have confused me with someone else!”<br/>Rajendra got up again, feeling very uncomfortable suddenly. “You do not remember me? Nevertheless, I want to tell you something – “<br/>Chandrika sat up in her bed. “Sire, please come back when I feel better… Doctor, you also may go… I am fine, I just need to take some rest, and I want to be alone!... Please go, both of you!”</p><p>Rajendra was stunned. No one had ever given him such orders. He was so shocked he didn’t know what else to do than to turn away and walk straight out of the room. The doctor followed him. “Sire, she isn’t herself tonight,” the doctor offered, clearly bothered by what had happened, when the door behind them closed. “She is usually very kind.” And then he walked away, leaving Rajendra alone to the doorstep of Chandrika’s quarters. The dancers who had earlier been there were gone now. Inside the temple complex, music was still playing loudly.</p><p>Rajendra stared at his feet. He didn’t understand what had just happened. Chandrika had smiled at him first, smiled in a way a young woman smiles to a dear friend. She had to know who he was… she had to remember! Remember that summer, now already seven years ago, during which they had happened to meet and spend time together in the city of Madras. They were mere children back then. She had come to the beach with her father, a musician from the north, whose bad cough doctors in Madras had tried to cure. Rajendra was there with his entourage, followed everywhere by a nanny from the West coast, who had no heart to stop him from looking for a young girl when he found a thin silver anklet on the sand. Seeing her anklet returned to her, the girl had laughed in such a sweet way that Rajendra had immediately decided they had to become friends. His nanny had let it happen, knowing that friendships were important to children, no matter the position and rank of both parties. </p><p>Rajendra turned around to look at Chandrika’s door again. He was ready to go in again – and this time he wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. Just as he was about to push the door, he thought he heard a voice talking on the inside. He decided to press his ear to the wood to hear what was going on in the quarters of the young lady.</p><p> “Chandrika… you must love me!”<br/>It was a male voice, deep and powerful. <br/>“Oh, but I do!” Chandrika’s voice replied. “I dance only for you!”<br/>“You must be quite tired tonight?” the voice asked. <br/>“I have given you my soul tonight!” <br/>“Your soul is beautiful, my child. No maharaja has ever received such a fine gift! The heavens poured flowers on you tonight.”</p><p>Rajendra stepped slowly away from the door, holding his breath. He understood now. He understood why she had acted so strangely when she had seen him. Chandrika already had a lover. Rajendra sighed, gazing at the stone floor of the corridor. As the prince, he could claim her anyway… But she would not come to him willingly. And as he loved her, he wanted her to love him back. Willingly. Who was that lucky man, who had claimed Chandrika’s heart? Rajendra was already walking away when he suddenly decided he wanted to see his rival. He stopped, turned around, and found a spot in the shadows of some pillars to sit down and wait. After some time, Chandrika appeared at the door. She had wrapped a shawl around her. She glanced around herself before she started walking towards the temples, maybe to join the procession that had started some time back. But she was alone. That meant her lover was still inside her quarters. Rajendra waited. No one came out. Rajendra started feeling silly, again. Finally, he marched to the door and pushed it open. The room was pitch dark. </p><p>“Hello, is someone here?” Rajendra called out. No answer came. Rajendra stepped inside and looked around himself. </p><p>There was no one in the room.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Voice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the month of Margali, handmaidens were to rise before the sun and get ready to wake up the gods in the shrine with singing and worship. Chandrika was among the handmaidens that were sent to the main shrine the morning following her grand debut performance. She was given the duty of waiving the lamp in front of the awoken deity to ward off all ill effects while her colleagues sang devotional hymns. A few girls danced a “Pushpanjali” and placed an offering of flowers in front of the lord. The priests recited a few shlokas. The ceremony was completed, and handmaidens were dismissed. </p><p>As Chandrika was walking down the staircase of the temple, the dance master Velmurugan came to tell her that it would be her turn to perform the evening duty at the Great Temple’s main shrine. No greater honor could be bestowed upon a handmaiden. Chandrika accepted happily. She spent the rest of her day getting ready for the event in her own quarters, carefully choosing her dress, pleating it, picking her jewelry, fixing it, tracing her eyes with a black eyeliner and her lips in red color. She was asked if she needed any help; she declined the offer. She had friends in the handmaidens of the temple, but she was known to be quiet and shy and she had never seemed to mind staying in her own company. Now too, she was left alone. </p><p>Now, of course, in one night, Chandrika had shot from being a nobody to be the leading dancer of the temple and although she was left alone, she was the talk of the town. There was no house where her name wasn’t uttered that day. There was no handmaiden who didn’t gossip with her friends about what had happened. Everyone wondered how they had ignored her still a moment ago. In dance practice sessions, she had shown some skill and even gotten a few compliments from the dance masters. She had been appointed to a minor shrine and had danced and sung there with several other women. But never had anyone seen her dance like she had last night. Never had they imagined that she could! <br/>“She had seemed, to me, to be just like any of us,” Jayashree told her friends, a few handmaidens sitting in a circle in the shade of the dance pavilion, outside the temple. It was just after noon, the sun was high and the heat was strong. <br/>“You used to dance with her, but you didn’t notice anything. No one had expected her to rise like that!” Sulochana agreed. “Her expressions were magnificent… Her posture without compare!”<br/>“And she deserves this,” Jayashree continued. “We all know she’s pure at heart, a really good girl. Remember when Megham was ill last year, how she took care of her? Even at night she stayed at her friend’s bedside and watched over her.”<br/>“Oh yes, yes,” the others agreed. The girls listed numerous other occasions during which Chandrika had proved to be a kind and friendly human being. It was impossible to feel jealousy towards such a person. Someone noted that there were no rumors going around about Chandrika either. No one remembered she would have played part in any sort of a scandal, or taken part in any quarrel, or herself indulged in gossiping about anyone. She seemed above all such earthly matters. Almost too good to be true.</p><p>In her own quarters, the handmaiden Chakranemi was furious. <br/>“I cannot believe that I was replaced so easily!” she shouted at the dance master who had brought her the dreaded news. She wiped sweat off her forehead, sitting on the low sofa in a corner of a beautifully furnished room, her injured leg bandaged and raised on a plush pillow. She had always feared this day would come, but never had she thought it could happen so soon. She was hardly thirty years old, in excellent health and physical condition, and had still several good dancing years ahead of her. It was definitely not the time to step back. “Chandrika is appointed to the main shrine now, where does that leave me?”<br/>“You will still be needed for the service at noon, as soon as your ankle gets well, and there are a lot of festivals, surely Chandrika cannot perform alone at all of them,” the dance master Venkatesh offered, trying to calm the angry artist. <br/>“Where did that girl appear from anyway, she never performed anywhere before this, did she? How come suddenly she’s a star? Who is she?” Chakranemi questioned, on the brink of tears. <br/>The dance master himself had no answer. No one had. </p><p>Even though Chandrika had declined any help to get ready, the young handmaiden Megham was still appointed to oil Chandrika’s hair with perfumes and comb it before braiding it with jasmine flowers. The task was too difficult to be performed alone by the new star of the temple. The girls installed themselves in Megham’s room. Megham and Chandrika had been quite close for all the time Chandrika had spent in the temple. Megham was practically born on the temple grounds, as her mother had been a handmaiden. Nowadays, her mother had stopped performing, and instead took care of a hundred little tasks around the temple complex. Megham was getting trained in music and dance and performed occasionally at smaller events or as a part of a group. </p><p>“I never knew you could dance like that! What a triumph last night was!” Megham sighed dreamy, combing her friend’s hair. “Who taught you to dance like that? Was it our dance master Velmurugan?”<br/>“Oh, Megham,” Chandrika replied. “If I tell you, you will not believe me.”<br/>“You are making me more curious now, Chandrika. You must tell me!”<br/>“Megham… Before my father died, he told me… Oh, you won’t believe me.”<br/>“Carry on, Chandrika!”<br/>“It was Lord Shiva, the god of dance himself, who taught me,” Chandrika blurted out. She glanced at her friend. Megham frowned. “See, I told you, you wouldn’t believe me.”<br/>“No, I – I do believe you. But – what do you mean? Did he appear to you? In a dream?”<br/>“Megham…” Chandrika hesitated. She adjusted her saree, gathered her thoughts. Then she turned to look at Megham again. “Let me tell you the whole story, then. About two years ago, I was appointed for morning services to the Ganesha shrine, as you might remember. A group of senior handmaidens would sing and dance as Jayashree and I would stand by while the idol was washed, clothed and decorated. We all would waive the lamp on our turn, to ward off the evil eye, as we are expected. Slowly the others would allow me to join them in singing and later in dancing, too. One day after the service, I stayed back because I had been asked to ground some turmeric paste for a wedding necklace. I was all alone inside the shrine. Suddenly, I heard a voice sing a wonderful melody I had not heard before. First, I thought it must be coming from outside, but after a while, I realized it was coming from inside the shrine, where I was seated. But there was no one there. I even got up and checked behind the doors and behind the idol! The voice belonged clearly to a male, but it was so melodious, so soft, so full of emotion… I was listening, like in a trance. When the singing stopped, I exclaimed: ‘beautiful!’, because that is how I had perceived it. The voice spoke and called my name. I was surprised and asked who was speaking. ‘It is I, your lord, who has descended from the heavens to tell you how much I appreciate your services.’ Oh, Megham! I have never been happier! I wanted to tell everyone about it, but the voice commanded me to not to tell, as it would cause jealousy among the handmaidens and the god didn’t want that. He asked me to stay behind and he asked me to sing more for him, which I did. He told me I was doing very well but said that he could help me do even better. I agreed right away, obviously, how could I not?... Think, our lord, Shiva… From then on, he would speak to me not only in the shrines but also in the dance hall and even in my own quarters. He would give me lessons in dance and in music and when I got more accustomed to the situation, we would often discuss various topics. He opened my eyes, my body and my soul to new ways of thinking, feeling, dancing – to what you saw last night, Megham…”<br/>“Did you ever see him though?” Megham asked. She had started braiding Chandrika’s long, black hair. The white jasmine shone brightly in contrast to it. <br/>“No. I asked him once, if I could get to see him, too. He remained silent for a long while after that and I thought that he had left me. Perhaps I had angered him with my silly request, and now he would never come back! I started crying and called him and begged him to come back. He did come back, finally, and explained to me, that if I did exactly as he told me to, I would get to see him, one day. So, I did everything he asked me to. And it took me all the way here. A few nights ago, his voice spoke to me, and he told me that I was now ready to perform to a large audience and that he had picked Margali’s first procession for me to dance on. I trusted him and waited, until on that very day, one of the dance masters came to announce I would be dancing the ‘Varnam’ at the main performance before the procession… And now I have been called to perform at the main shrine…”<br/>“Chandrika, what you tell me surprises me,” Megham said, shaking her head. “I have never heard the god would actually visit handmaidens… Although I suppose it could be possible…”<br/>“Do not question, Megham. It is possible and it has happened. How can you doubt it after seeing what you saw last night?” Chandrika asked, turning to look at her friend, her eyes shining with a zeal that scared the other girl. <br/>“Alright, Chandrika, you are ready now,” Megham changed the topic and busied herself in gathering her combs and hairpins back inside a wooden box where she kept them. “You must go to the shrine, mustn’t you?” Chandrika got up, thanked her friend, hugged her, and walked away, leaving Megham puzzled in her own room. </p><p>Inside the shrine, a group of women had already sang a few songs. The priests had concluded their prayers and ushered the common folk out. The idol of the lord had been washed with milk and then water, dried, clothed, and placed back on its bed, in the inner part of the shrine, where his female counterpart, the idol of the goddess, waited. A fresh garland of flowers was placed at their feet. Chandrika lay down on the floor, hands joined above her head, front against the cold marble floor, fully stretched in devotion in front of the idol. The other women and the priests left, leaving the door to the shrine just a bit open. The handmaiden and the god were given some privacy. </p><p>Chandrika sat up, adjusted the blue saree she was wearing, and cleared her throat. She started singing a love song, gazing at the idol, miming the meaning mildly with her eyes and hands. This is how the gods were put to sleep everywhere in the country: sweet handmaidens dressed in the finest jewels singing love songs as lullabies. After Chandrika was done with her first song, she placed one hand on her chest, closed her eyes, and bowed her head. </p><p>“I am so grateful. Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. <br/>“Chandrika,” a melodious voice spoke. Chandrika looked up, a wide smile spreading on her radiant face. He was there! He was watching her! “I have asked the dance master Velmurugan to book you to sing in the main shrine every night now. I want to fall asleep with your song ringing in my ears.”<br/>“As you wish, my lord,” Chandrika said. Her lord’s voice was so sweet and the words he spoke were even sweeter!<br/>“There is something else that I wish, my Chandrika.”<br/>“Yes, my lord?”<br/>“You cannot meet that boy again!”<br/>Chandrika lowered her gaze. They had already spoken of “that boy” last night after her performance. Her lord had been furious to hear the voice of a mortal man in her quarters. He had told her then also that he never wanted to see that happen again. He acted almost as if he was jealous of the young prince… But was there any comparison between a prince and a god? “I already told you,” Chandrika sighed, looking back up at the idol of the god, “He came in uninvited, and I have no intention of inviting him back in again.”  <br/>“Do you understand that I cannot continue teaching you the ways of the divine handmaidens if you rather spend your time with mortal men?” the voice asked. <br/>“I understand and I am not going to spend any time with him or any other mortal.”<br/>“Good. You belong to me, Chandrika.”<br/>“Yes, I belong to you.” <br/>“This is what your father wanted.”<br/>“Exactly so,” Chandrika smiled. <br/>There was a small pause before he spoke again. <br/>“All right, I believe you. Tomorrow morning, we will have a class in your quarters. I gave you a day of rest after your performance last night, but do not think this laziness could continue! I have composed a new piece I want you to learn and perform at the next procession. Are your thighs very sore?”<br/>“Of course they are”, Chandrika replied, rubbing her palms on her upper legs as if to try whether the ache had reduced. The deep sitting posture artists had to uphold while dancing left every handmaiden’s thighs sore. “You know I gave everything I had in me last night.”<br/>“Good girl. That’s how it should be. It is only with hard work that one can excel! Hard work and pain!... Oh, yes… Hmm. Enough of talking, now. Sing for me, my Chandrika.”</p><p>And Chandrika sang. The next song was an old love song about a maid and her lord. How she dreamed he would come and wed her, even if she was an insignificant woman. Like Chandrika herself. She got up for this one, so she could mime better, give a fuller meaning to the lines, act every segment she wanted to convey. She was so lost in her dance that she was almost surprised to hear his sigh as the song ended. <br/>“Chandrika,” the lord said, his voice breathless, as she sat down again in front of him, “Your singing is simply heavenly. And you look sweeter than any heavenly maidens entertaining the gods at Indra’s court. You’re beautiful beyond compare. I can feel your love and devotion radiate all over this shrine. I’m extremely lucky to possess you.”<br/>Chandrika smiled. She felt happy. She felt warm. She noticed she was sweating. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and hurried to continue with a new song, not sure herself why she was so nervous when everything was going so well.</p><p>When she was done, Chandrika joined her palms and bowed her forehead to the marble floor. Her lord was silent now, having no doubt fallen asleep with her singing as was meant to. The handmaiden got up, tip-toed to the idols, and carefully closed the velvet curtain that separated them from the rest of the world. She then turned around and opened the doors to step out. She was greeted by two priests who had stayed to wait for her as an act of courtesy. They closed and locked the door of the shrine for the night and escorted the dancer back to her quarters. Wishing her good night, they headed back to their own quarters. </p><p>That night, Chandrika was not able to sleep. She tossed and turned in her little bed and thought of how her life had changed in just two days. Even the priests were treating her more respectfully now. The warm tingling that had started in her abdomen in the shrine continued and grew as she thought more and more of what had happened. The lord had never praised her like that. He had called her sweet and beautiful and said he wanted her to sing to him every night! She hid her face in a pillow and giggled. Was there anyone as lucky as her? </p><p>Chandrika placed the pillow between her legs, where it ached so, and ran a trembling hand over her own breasts. It wasn’t the first time she was pleasuring herself, but it was the first time she did it wishing her lord was there with her, his strong body against hers, his powerful hands on her. Closing her eyes, Chandrika imagined his soothing voice say her name like he had just done in the shrine. How she longed for his touch! Slowly, she started grinding her hips against the pillow, and felt herself getting wetter. “Oh, my lord,” she sighed, clasping the pillow tighter against herself. “My thighs will ache tomorrow again, but this time, it will be because you made love to me all night!”</p><p>The moon was high in the sky when the young woman finally drifted off to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>